Bad Beat
by Kingoftheplankton
Summary: Nobody has ever robbed New Vegas. So when The Tops gets hit, Benny Gecko knows his job- and life- are forfeit until he can catch the culprit. Unfortunately, he'll need The Courier's help. Rated T- May change later.
1. Chapter 1

Bad Beat

_The Tops Casino, New Vegas_

"WOO! Let it ride! I'm on FIRE, baby!"

Benny Gecko lounged lazily on the rail that encircled the main gaming pit in his casino, cocking an errant eyebrow at the scene developing around one of The Top's famous roulette tables. An NCR tourist was on a 'lucky' streak, and was not coincidentally surrounded by the finest array of gold-diggers and blood-suckers The Strip had to offer. Benny was no punk. He didn't get to be Head Honcho of the swinginest casino in Vegas without being able to spot a fink a mile away. You can't fool a fooler, and Benny was one perceptive cat. To the untrained eye, Benny was goofing off, joking with his bodyguards and glad-handing the high-rollers. This was a dangerous assumption to make, as many a would-be cheater had found out to their expense. All of Benny's attention was now focused with the pinpoint precision of a Van Graff Laser Rifle on the winning gambler. Again, an inexperienced observer would conclude that the gambler's reactions were genuine, and indeed his streak seemed completely natural. At one point, he had been down almost 4000 caps, which Benny now suspected had been an attempt to throw watchful gazes off his trail. He was up now, however, by 8000 caps, and getting dangerously close to the ceiling that would require him to be removed. Only one person had ever taken The Tops to the jackpot limit and not been caught cheating, and Benny was not present at the time.

He'd have thrown The Courier out on his ass, whatever Not-At-Home said.

"YES! 19 Black, baby! That's where it's AT!"

With an almost imperceptible nod in the direction of Swank, Benny's right-hand, the impressive and well oiled machinery that dealt with incidents like this went smoothly into action.

Firstly, the croupier was to sweep up as the offending gambler's chips and retain them for the casino. Any attempt to resist the croupier in this action would be understood as a hostile reaction.

Secondly, armed guards would, depending on the gambler's aforementioned reaction, either peacefully accompany or forcibly drag the gambler to one of The Top's back rooms.

Thirdly, and normally finally, Benny himself would venture to one of the back rooms and conduct the questioning, unaccompanied and armed only with whatever he had on him at the time. Swank or another lieutenant watched through two-way glass, documenting the exchange for Mr. House.

All three casinos had back rooms like the one the NCR tourist was being dragged to. All were small, claustrophobic and unfurnished, save for a stainless steel table and two hard-backed wooden chairs. One wall was adorned with a small mirror, through which the casino staff could observe the unlucky soul or souls who were contained within.

On this occasion, Benny nonchalantly took his seat opposite the heavily bleeding, handcuffed and barely conscious suspect. Benny made a mental note to tell the bouncers to ease up a little in future. Dead cheaters weren't able to give up the secrets of whatever system they were using, and Benny couldn't have that. When Benny was involved, the odds were _always _stacked in his favour. Luck was for losers. Lighting up a cigarette, Benny started his well-practiced routine. His voice slid across the table like an eel covered in honey.

"Hey, kid. Sorry about that bad scene out on the floor. These guys, you know how it is. Give a little slice of power to anybody nowadays and you can forgeddaboutit. I tell them, I say 'Fellas, you gotta ease up!' But do they listen to ol' Benny G?" He shook his head ruefully and sighed, flicking his lighter open and closed in a preoccupied sort of manner. "My boy Swank tells me your name is Andy. Am I on the button?"

The unfortunate creature opposite seemed to come around, emboldened by the instant camaraderie, and attempted to seize on his apparent advantage. He nodded his battered head and attempted to shift into a more comfortable position. Benny didn't miss the gesture.

"Apologies on the handcuff thing, but Mr. House says it always goes down this way. If it was up to me, Andy, I'd rather let you buy me a drink with those winnings of yours." Benny arranged his features into a sympathetic mask. "But if Mr. House says jump, a smart cat says how high, dig? You smoke, Andy?"

Andy nodded again, and Benny strode around the table, held a cigarette to his lips and lit for him. Andy grunted in appreciation as the sweet, acrid cloud swept into his lungs. Re-seating himself, Benny flicked a rogue speck of dust from the arm of his checkered coat and kept on the offensive.

"Now Andy, Mr. House is a lot of things, but one thing he isn't is forgiving. He's got a real hard-on for security, and one of the offshoots of that little policy is cracking down on cheaters, big-time. So..."

"I ain't a cheater! I swear!" Andy cried, beseeching Benny with the one eye that was not a swollen mass of blood. Benny made a pacifying gesture.

"Andy, you gotta let me finish when I'm talkin', otherwise we're just two cats meowing at each other and we'll get nowhere," replied Benny. His words created a subtle change in atmosphere, the first time that he let it be known that there was a serious side to his personality. Andy sought to rectify his mistake.

"Sorry man, it's just that on my mommas grave I swear I never cheated. You gotta believe me."

Benny's voice was smooth and well-practiced. "Baby, I've heard it all before. This ain't my first rodeo, dig? But for what it's worth, I believe you, Andy. Like I said, I'm just an engaged innkeeper trying to make sure everybody has a good time." Benny flashed his winning smile, and Andy noticeably relaxed, thinking he was out of the woods. Still grinning, Benny continued, following the same routine he always did. "My man Swank, though, he's a different story. Suspicious as a chick pissing in the air. I'm always tellin' him, 'Swank baby. You gotta keep it in the groove! Be like the B-man, smooth moves baby, smooth moves.'" Benny laughed, slapping the table hard and locking eyes with Andy. "But the thing with Swank, he's got a good antennae. He can smell when somethings rotten. It's why he's got the job! And, well, the thing is Andy... Swank smelled something rotten on you."

Benny's smile had gone, but the eye contact had not. Andy shifted uncomfortably again.

"He was gonna whack you, you know. Have our boys take you upstairs and throw you off the roof. That's normal policy with cheaters in here. Mr. House wants us to set an example, you see. If you think we're bad, you should see what they do in Gomorrah!" Benny shuddered theatrically before continuing. "If it wasn't for me, buddy, you'd be paste on the sidewalk."

Andy's fear had grown to the point that he was shivering uncontrollably. His throat had tightened and his words became strangled as he pleaded. "Benny, man... Please. I got a family, back west. You have to believe me. I didn't do it, I swear!"

Benny frowned. Usually, they were crumbling or had crumbled by now and were focused on securing guarantees of safety. He opened his mouth to try and turn the screw a bit more when there was a knock on the door. Andy's undamaged pupil dilated in terror and he swivelled in his chair, certain that impending death lurked. Benny rose and strolled to open it, hands firmly ensconced in his pockets.

It was Swank. He motioned to Benny to exit into the hallway. He looked uncharacteristically serious, furrowed lines on his normally smooth forehead.

"I'll be right back, Andy. Think about what I said. It'll be better for you if you confess..." Leaving that statement hanging in the air, Benny left the room, slamming the door behind him. Swank was already walking briskly down the hall, back toward the casino floor. Benny jogged to catch up with him.

"Swank baby, slow down! Andy ain't going anywhere anytime soon."

"Andy isn't our problem, Benny," Swank snapped. "He wasn't cheating."

Benny stopped walking, stunned. Swank stormed ahead a little more, before turning back to face Benny. He was angrier than Benny had ever seen him, and when he shouted Benny was amazed at the rage now showing on his right-hand man's face. "HURRY THE FUCK UP!"

The two men emerged onto the casino floor, which was in a state of utter chaos. Gamblers and staff alike were being lined up against the wall where Benny normally leaned, guarded by bouncers armed with 9mm Sub-Machine Guns. Nonplussed, Benny turned to Swank, seeking explanation. Swank looked him in the eye, anger giving way to a smidgen of fear.

"Benny, we're fucked. When Not-At-Home hears about this, we're up shit creek without a fucking paddle."

"Swank baby, slow down. Lay it on me. What happened?"

"When we dragged Andy off the floor, it was 11.55. At noon, it was shift change time. The croupier who was working the hot table went and got changed and left. At 12.30, the floor manager realised she didn't hand in the chips. We asked the cashier and he cashed out the exact amount of chips Andy won to three different people. Three people matching their descriptions just turned up dead at the gate in Freeside. We're down twelve thousand caps to this bitch, Benny. We. Are. Fucked."

Unlike Swank, Benny Gecko never lost his cool. That was why he was the boss and Swank wasn't. Despite the rage swirling around inside his chest and his burning desire to find and murder the woman who had taken him for a fool, he maintained his facade.

"Alright Swank. You did good. Take every cap, Denarius, Aureus and NCR rag you can as well as all the chips those clowns have. We'll tell House there was a big con and that we couldn't tell who was in on it. He loves the money too much to care about these schmucks. That way we'll recoup some of the loss. And don't sweat the twelve thousand. I'll get it back for us. Has Benny ever let you down?"

Smiling at Swank, Benny turned and walked straight out of his casino. The insane heat of the Mojave sun beat down on him immediately, and Benny hurried to the left, eager to return to shade. Ducking through one of the gates that divided The Strip into thirds, he emerged into the looming shadow of The Lucky 38. Once a silent, empty building, it now buzzed with tourist traffic like the other three casinos, having recently been re-opened. The rumour mill had since gone into overdrive, and the word on The Strip was that Mr. House was none too happy about his fortress being exposed to the public. Times had changed though.

Dreading what was coming next, Benny approached Victor at the front door. Members of the Three Families were still not allowed to set foot in the 38.

"Howdy, Fancy-Pants! What can I do ya for?"

Benny grimaced at the name before speaking. "Can it, Victor. I need to see him."

"Well hold your horses! I'll see if he's available."

"Now, Victor. It's an emergency. Code Orange."

Victor stopped bouncing for a moment, save for the small whirring antennae atop it's rectangle-shaped head. Suddenly, Victor's smiling cowboy face was replaced by an entirely different image. The stern, mustachioed face of Robert Edwin House, known as Mr. House by his employees, stared out of the Securitron's abdomen at Benny. The no-nonsense, sarcastic voice that issued let Benny know that House's time was not to be wasted.

"Benny. A Code Orange. How... unpleasant. Follow me."

The Securitron turned and rolled jovially through the casino. Benny followed, taking in the casino which he had sought to enter for so long.

* * *

><p><em>The Lucky 38 Casino, Penthouse Floor, New Vegas<em>

"Twelve thousand caps. This will certainly not do." Mr House's huge console took up most of Benny's vision, and even his supernatural cool was slipping at the awe inspiring penthouse. He barely heard House speak as he gazed around him, wicked thoughts growing in his scheming mind. To his left, he spied an auspicious terminal guarded by three different Securitrons.

"_Well now. Ol' Benny G is gonna have to get himself a look at that, pretty soon."_

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention and not keeping the matter from me, Benny. Perhaps it is time for you and I to resolve our differences and forge our partnership anew."

Benny smiled up at the screen in front of him. "You read my mind, Mr. House. When this whole scene is behind us, we'll have ourselves a sit-down."

"Indeed. But now, to business. This affair cannot be left unresolved. I have accessed the offender's personnel files, to find that her name is Ms. Jane Tandi."

Skeptical, Benny frowned. "Tandi? Seriously?"

"My thoughts exactly. Unfortunately, such obvious aliases are commonplace nowadays. More positively, we have a picture to work with. I have transmitted her image to every Securitron on the network. Thanks to their new pulse weapons, they will incapacitate and subdue her if she is spotted. Judging by the intelligence she has shown so far, however, I suspect that that is a remote possibility. Also, my agents in Freeside have identified the bodies of the three co-conspirators. They were well known petty criminals in the area, but as yet I have no other known associates to interrogate. The Garrets seemed likely founts of evidence, but there is an unusual air of fear around them, which is rare. Someone is leaning on them, and they must be formidable if they are more frightened of them than they are of me."

Benny lit and drew upon a cigarette while Mr. House was talking, his face rapt with attention while he exhaled blue clouds from his mouth. "So what do we do?"

Mr. House spoke confidently, his screen image flickering. "Firstly, you are going to go looking for her."

Benny spluttered in shock. "Me? Boss-man, are you feeling alright? Your circuits aren't overheating or anything, are they?"

"You have proven yourself incredibly versatile, Benny. You managed to locate, track and subdue The Courier, who is not someone prone to being subdued. You took control of a savage tribe and civilized them. And I know from experience that you are not afraid to get your hands dirty."

"Boss-man, I didn't know you felt this way. I'm flattered, baby, truly I am. But I'm just not the cat you're looking for."

Mr. House's patience was thinning with the conversation, and he showed it. "It was not a request, Benny. It was an order. Swank will take over the day to day operations."

"Mr. House, I really think..."

"Of course, I wouldn't dream of sending you alone. I have someone who will make the search much easier. In fact, he just arrived. Very fortunate that he's back in town."

Benny felt a cold shudder run through his body as he heard the elevator doors ping behind him, and he felt his body turn almost against his will to look up the stairs.

A man came into view, dressed in a strangely patchwork set of clothes. They story behind this outfit was known to every citizen of the Mojave Wasteland, and Benny was no exception.

He wore the long, black coat of a veteran NCR Ranger, which he had been awarded by Chief Hanlon when he almost single-handedly eradicated the Legion from Cottonwood Cove and Nelson. Under the coat was the body armor of a Powder Ganger, taken from the still warm body of Eddie, the leader of the Powder Gangers at the NCRCF. Lower down, half of a set of Brotherhood of Steel Recon Armor gave ample protection to his lower half. The man had taken the armor from the dead body of a Brotherhood Knight, one of many he had killed before he destroyed the Brotherhood's Hidden Bunker. The man's blue eyes twinkled from behind a set of sunglasses looted from one of Caesar's Praetorian Guard. The man's blond hair was pushed back from his face via a piece of black leather, which bore the faded insignia of the broken tribe formerly known as The Great Khans. He wore brown, light shoes, useful for quick getaways and made from durable leather. On his left hand was a glove covered in jagged, razor-sharp blades taken from a chainsaw which had belonged to Motor-Runner, leader of the Fiends. In his right hand, spinning on his index finger, was a golden 9mm Pistol with an image of Our Lady of Guadalupe emblazoned on the handle. And it was to this pistol that Benny's eyes were drawn as The Courier walked towards him, a slight smile playing on his lips.

"Hello, Benny."


	2. Chapter 2

_The Atomic Wrangler Casino, Freeside, New Vegas_

"Francine, what are we going to do?"

James Garret had his head in his hands. Sitting on a case of Sunset Sarsaparilla in the room behind his bar, he looked up at his sister to see her chewing a rogue rag-nail, eyes downcast.

"I mean, House is going to come after us now. He might send... you know... _him. _Never mind what the rumours say about Caesar and the Khans, you saw what was left of Grecks and Santiago when they wouldn't pay up. And all that blood on McCafferty's hat... That's proof enough of his capabilities for me. Who's going to protect us? The Kings love him, and NCR are long gone. You think he's going to be scared of our guards? I mean, Francie-"

The door of the Atomic Wrangler blew open, and James Garret leapt straight out of his skin. His petrified ears caught the sudden burst of noise from Freeside's chaotic streets. The manufactured moans of his own hookers plying their trade in the run-down alleyways, the catcalls of The Kings as they hassled any straggling NCR squatters stupid enough to let their allegiances be known, the criers drumming up business with their booming voices and the ever-present echo of Dean Martin all assaulted James Garret's ears in one disorientating moment, before being cut off as quickly as it began. The cacophony of the outside was replaced by the soft plinking of slot machines and the low mumble of gamblers pissing their money away at the blackjack table, with the occasional understated crackle of the roulette table bubbling along as a pleasant undercurrent. But James Garret detected above the mundane two distinct footfalls. One was brash, confident, the walk of one confident in his abilities and unafraid to let the world know about it. The other was almost silent in comparison, a thoughtful and well trained stalk. The two different styles of gait took a few steps into The Wrangler and then came to a stop. There was comparative silence for a few moments, and then one of the people who had entered spoke to the covering bartender, a young NCR refugee named Daniel who had successfully integrated himself into Freeside's community with the Garret's help.

"Hello there. Would you be able to grab one of your bosses for me? I'll watch the bar for you."

At the sound of the Courier's voice, James Garret almost soiled himself as he dissolved into near-silent hysterics, frantically muttering under his breath, "Ohmigodohmigodohmigod-"

"James, shut the fuck up." Francine Garret fixed her brother with a withering glare, her face rapt with attention as she listened intently to the exchange occurring in the next room. She was trying not to show it, but James could see the fear on her face as clear as day. "Stop being such a little pussy. Daniel's got this."

"No, I can't," replied Daniel to the Courier, before adding bluntly, "You're not welcome here anymore."

"Is that so? Says who?" The Courier's voice was even, betraying no emotion other than slight amusement.

"Says me. You're barred. Get out."

"NCR, right?"

"What?" The question caught Daniel off-guard, and his voice rang with slight shock.

"You're NCR. I can tell by your accent. I'm guessing Hub- No wait, Shady Sands."

Daniel quickly regained composure, and brusquely shoved the question off. "I'm from Freeside. Now get the fuck out of my bar."

"It's because of the Hoover Dam thing, isn't it?"

The air in the bar seemed to become very still. All the gamblers (and staff) were evidently as entranced as the Garrets.

Daniel's voice was barely above a whisper as he said, "My brother died at Hoover Dam, you son of a bitch."

The Courier let out a slow sigh. "I know, Daniel."

"How did you-"

"I didn't recognize your accent, kid. I know who you are. Now listen to me," The Couriers voice grew stern, as if lecturing a small child. "You've probably heard a lot of things about what happened that day. If you want the truth, Daniel, I'll tell you. I knew your brother. I knew him very well, in fact. He was a dear friend of mine, and I mourn his loss everyday. I'll tell you exactly what happened to him, but you have to do something for me first."

Francine Garret and her twin brother James mirrored each other, as only twins can, with one word that perfectly summed up their situation.

"Tell me where the Garrets are."

"Fuck!"

The Garrets attempted, in the same moment, to make a break for the upstairs bedrooms. They had barely made it out of the small alcove where they had been hiding before the door at which they were listening was kicked from it's hinges. Two loud gunshots rang out and both Garrets twins hit the ground, clutching their right kneecaps. They twisted and flailed around, staring with deepening terror as the Courier advanced, aiming his golden 9mm pistol. But even in their pain and fear, both siblings managed an audible gasp of surprise as Benny, leader of the Chairmen, looking resplendent in his checkered jacket, emerged from the Courier's shadow shaking his head and wearing an expression of grudging respect.

"Baby, much as it hurts me to say it... That was impressive." Turning his attention to the twins, Benny managed a genuine smile. "That looks like it hurt. What's say we take you someplace more comfortable?"

* * *

><p><em>The King's School of Impersonation, Freeside, New Vegas<em>

"I got those hup-two-three-four operation G.I. Blues..."

On the stage, one of the "Jailhouse Rockers" belted his way through an upbeat number about that feeling that descends on all soldiers once they realise they're going to be stuck without any erotic relief for the duration of their tour of duty. Hips gyrating, lip curled, he was one in a long line of Vegas residents to ape the original singer of the song. The foot-tapping nature of the music was not lost on Benny, who slotted it away in his mind for future reference. _"We could use some new numbers. Frankie and Bing are gettin' a little stale."_

"King, baby! Gratitude and platitudes headed your way. Me and Chainsaw-hand-Charlie upstairs needed somewhere to stick it to those two clowns."

The King sat in the theatre of the "world" headquarters of The King's gang, flanked by Pacer, his loyal lieutenant. His face was affixed with a wide smile as he spoke with Benny, who was seated opposite at the same table, his feet resting on a vacant seat. When Benny expressed his thanks, The King waved him off.

"Aww hell, Benny, you and me go way back. And the Courier helped me out so many times I can't even count 'em. Tell you what, consider us even. I've been trying for years to pay you back for that time you saved my sorry hide from the Khans. Anyway," The King winked conspiratorially, "I've been thinking about taking The Wrangler over. My boys are over there now, uh, _re-arranging _a few things. But I ain't seen you since you and the Boot-Riders decided to deal with Mr. Heartbreak Hotel."

Benny nursed his rum and Nuka-Cola, tipping his glass in an assenting and conciliatory way. "I feel you King, I do. But Not-At-Home really hates us flying the coop."

The King sipped his own drink- whiskey, straight- and asked Benny how business was going.

"It's all going good right now, pally. The 38 may be open for business, but The Tops is where all happens. How come I never see you in there?"

"Benny, you know how it is. Gotta keep my eye on my soldiers out there. The head guy can't go skipping out on his duties, can he? No offence meant, of course."

Benny smiled, acknowledging the ribbing. "I've got a good man to fill in. Having Swank is like havin' two brains." His eyes lit upon Pacer. "I think a good right-hand man is as important as a good leader, dig? I mean, if your go-to-guy is strung out on Jet, well..."

Pacer jumped up suddenly, kicked his chair out of the way and slammed the table with his fist, spilling his own drink- vodka- everywhere. "What're you tryna say, buddy-boy?"

Benny ignored him completely and looked at the King, eyebrows raised. The performer on stage stopped crooning mid hip-thrust and stood awkwardly, unsure of whether to continue. The King was not amused.

"Pacer, you damn fool. Get the hell out of here, but clean this mess up first!"

"But.. But King-"

"_Now,_ Pacer. Don't try my patience."

Pacer meekly mopped up the spill with his jacket, and left, shooting Benny a poisoned look as he did so. The King watched him go with an exasperated, angry expression on his face. "That idiot's been jumpy all week. As if I don't have enough to deal with."

The King turned to face the man on stage, giving him a reassuring nod and he motioned for him to continue. Visibly relieved, the singer relaxed his posture and prepared to sing once more. However, before he could begin, a piercing scream from the floors above caused him to freeze again. Benny and The King glanced at the ceiling, before Benny pushed back from the table and stood.

"Well, it looks like Mr. Mysterious has the dope we're looking for. Seeing as you're in the middle of a hostile takeover, why don't you and I go upstairs and have a hand in the board-room discussions?"

The King chuckled and rose, leading Benny through the labyrinthine of staircases and doorways that lead to the room on the second floor where the Garret twins were being interrogated by the Courier. As they approached, the Courier exited. His clothes were spattered with blood, and the sobs of the twins in the darkened, foul-smelling room were heard for a brief moment before the Courier snapped the door closed. Benny and The King stared at him as he wiped specks of blood from his sunglasses, and then turned to speak to them. His face was clouded, and he seemed troubled. He addressed The King first.

"King... I'm sorry, I need to speak to Pacer."

Speak was a euphemism, and The King picked up on it, cautiously defending his friend. "Whoa, now. Let's not get ahead of ourselves here-"

"The Garrets have told me Pacer knows the thief. I am inclined to believe them. Where is Pacer?"

"Courier-man, promise me you ain't gonna do nothing stupid, now."

The Courier surveyed The King for a few seconds before speaking, cleaning the vicious blades attached to the glove on his left hand.

"My friend, have I ever been dishonest in my dealings with you? It's true, I am not one given to trust, but I trust you. I only ask that you trust me in return. Pacer is my next lead, and I will get the answers I seek out of him. If that means I have to hurt him, I will. But I will not kill him, out of gratitude and because of my friendship to you. Is that acceptable?"

The King nodded. "I told him to get out of the theatre. He's probably at the water pump, he heads over there when he's punk sore at the world."

The Courier nodded, and gestured to the door behind him. "They're all yours. As long as you promise that I'm allowed to gamble at the Wrangler again." The Courier jerked a thumb towards Benny. "This asshole says my action is too hot for his tables."

Benny managed a small smile, although it was plain that he found zero humour in the Courier's words. "What can I say, baby? You need somewhere a cut above our humble establishment."

"Fat chance, Courier-man," The King replied, leaning against the door-frame. "I ain't gonna have you take us to the cleaners. How am I supposed to make any caps with you bleedin' us dry?"

The Courier shrugged his shoulders in defeat and started towards the staircase. The King entered the Garret's interrogation room, shutting the door behind him. The Courier stopped at the top of the stairs, turning to look at Benny. Benny gazed coolly back.

"Hurry up. We've got work to do."

"Don't tell me what to do," Benny snapped.

"Or what? You'll shoot me in the head?"

Silence followed as the two men held each other's eye for a few moments. The Courier was first to relent, and he began to walk down the stairs, shaking his head in defeat. Benny listened, remaining in place as his footsteps disappear out of earshot.

* * *

><p><em>Freeside's East Gate, Mojave Desert<em>

"Hmmm. This is... troubling."

So spoke the Courier as he cast his eye upon the naked, disemboweled figure of Pacer. His body was strung up at the entrance to Freeside, dangling by a hook that was anchored by a nearby rock. Two more members of The Kings lay dead on the ground below. They had been shot once in the back of the head.

This grisly scene was the culmination of a series of leads the Courier had followed ever since James Garret had screamed the name of the King's second-in-command during his questioning. From the water-pump, he had been all over Freeside, each time only one step behind Pacer. Only moments before, Rotface (in exchange for a single cap) had directed the Courier to the gate nearby, where he had heard shots fired recently.

The Courier stood silent for a short while, taking in all the evidence he could gather from sight alone. He then began lowering Pacer to the ground. After this, he pulled at a patch sewn onto his black ranger coat. It revealed the bulky form of his Pip-Boy 3000, which he had extensively modified with the help of Mr. House's incredible technical knowledge and stores of Pre-War technology. He now used one of it's most useful additions- an in-built camera- to snap a number of pictures of the mutilated corpse. When he was finished, he uploaded the pictures onto Mr. House's database, which he was now remotely connected to at all times. He added a message with the file:

"_Robert, if you could, please consult the attached images and estimate a time and cause of death. I am going to ask Arcade for assistance. Don't send your findings, I will return to the Lucky 38 after visiting the Old Mormon Fort."_

Briskly, the Courier returned to Freeside, fervently hoping he would be able to leave it in the near future, and dreading the coming conversations with Daniel, Arcade and many others that would doubtless result in his drinking far too much.

* * *

><p><em>The King's School of Impersonation, Freeside, New Vegas<em>

Benny had been drinking far too much. He slumped on the top of a queen-sized bed in the upper echelons of the King's headquarters, feeling a hazy slumber creep up on him. He and The King had celebrated the latter's acquisition of The Atomic Wrangler in style, resulting in an impromptu rendition on stage of "Strangers in the Night," by the one and only Frankie S. The two had then retired upstairs to their respective bedrooms, The King still singing lustily as he crooked his finger at two buxom, blond beauties who followed him in. Benny had waved off the offer of company. He was too far gone to even think about that. As the room span above him, his vision blurred and he slipped into a familiar dream.

_It is the dead of night. The sky is an inky black, illuminated only by the tiny dots that sparkle so uniquely over the Mojave, a sight unseen anywhere else in the new world._

_The man lies in the dirt behind me. He is beginning to waken, I hear him squirming in the sand and yet I pay little heed. Only a short while ago I managed to trap and subdue him, and I took from him what I sought. The Khans who have accompanied me wished to kill him immediately and leave his body for the buzzards, but I am not of their ilk. I am better than them, now. That is why they dig the grave and not I._

_In front of me, on the horizon, lies my home, which will soon inherit a leader worthy of it. The lights stir something beautiful in my heart, a feeling which no other sensation manages to match. I find that I am truly happy when I look upon New Vegas. She is the diamond in the rough, the jewel that I covet most._

"_You got what you were after, so pay up."_

_McMurphy, leader of the small group of Khans travelling with me, is antsy. He believes I will not honour my side of the bargain._

_He is correct._

"_You're crying in the rain, pally," I reply smoothly, still staring across the blasted and sun-scorched wasteland at my new empire. I take a draw from my cigarette._

_Never before or again will one taste so sweet._

"_Look who's wakin' up over here!"_

_Jessup's voice is an irritating call to action. I turn and observe the Courier at my feet struggle to get his bearings, as the slow memory of those who suffer heavy blows to the head attempts to catch him up on his situation._

_I drop the cigarette and step on it. "Time to cash out," I say, for no other reason than it sounds amusing and apt to my ears. I take a few steps forward, and look my victim in the eyes. They are dilated in fear, however they do not dart around, seeking an escape. His resolve impresses me._

"_Will you get it over with?" McMurphy leans towards me, eager for a return to his home._

_His constant nagging angers me, but I show no sign. I simply hold my hand up to cease his protests, and he falls silent._

"_Maybe Khans kill people without looking them in the face... But I ain't a fink, dig?"_

_My language is gaudy and brash. This is my character. It suits my needs, and I have grown to be fond of it. I spit the words with only a glance over my shoulder in McMurphy's direction, before I turn once again to the courier on the ground._

_Reaching into my jacket, I produce the Platinum Chip. The light from our fire dances off it, and I am almost entranced by it's shimmering surface. Behind me, I sense McMurphy's eyes boring into the Chip, the most precious of cargo for which I risked everything. It is in that moment I decide I will kill him._

_As usual, however, I betray no hint of my thoughts. The courier recognises his package. "You've made your last delivery, kid," I tell him, and I see his skin turn white. I replace the Chip in my breast pocket, feeling around for Maria. I find her, and produce her with a small flourish._

"_Sorry you got twisted up in this scene."_

_I do not think he hears my words, because his eyes finally let him down. He glances at Maria. She dances in the flickering flame-light. A single tear rolls down his cheek._

_An owl hoots somewhere nearby. I feel a rush of controlled adrenaline as my destiny inches closer, but it is tempered by my conscience. I am not without a heart, and so I offer some small words of comfort._

"_From where you're kneeling, it must seem like an 18-carat run of bad luck."_

_I level Maria at his head, and as his eyes fix on her barrel I wonder what he must be thinking. Is there a woman in his life? Children? He remains staunchly silent, and once more I find myself feeling grudging admiration._

"_Truth is... The game was rigged from the start."_

_I let the words hang for a moment. His eyes are now focused on me. Strangely, I feel a small pang of fear._

_I pull the trigger on Maria. She rings deafeningly around the graveyard, and the unfortunate courier collapses to the ground, his life extinguished._

_It is the biggest mistake I ever make._


End file.
